On the Road
by Rocksalt Rifle
Summary: A collection of shorts using the 64 damnprompts list from Livejournal. Fullmetal Alchemist/Supernatural fusion.
1. 2 am

Ed lifted his head muzzily from his pillow, the heavy heat of the room had drug him out of sleep and now lay across his chest like an oppressive blanket. He kicked the coverlet off of the motel bed and tried to turn over, nearly rolled into Al and snorted, confused. Al pushed him away, hardly awake and rolled on his side, presenting his back to Ed. Ed sat up, rubbed his face with one hand and stared at Al. Why wasn't Al in his own bed? Ed glanced into the darkness and saw a lump in the other bed and remembered, Castiel swathed in bandages and lying face down so as not to tear the slowly healing flesh open again.

He sighed and scooted out of bed. The entire bed shifted and Al mumbled something indecipherable. Ed hesitated, glancing over his shoulder at Al, looking for the scar on the small of his back and feeling his gut twinge, before standing up.

An entire lifetime lived in motels and Ed didn't need to turn on a single light. He ran some water in the bathroom, splashed it on his face, drank some from his cupped palm. The heat was suffocating, he felt like the water would evaporate from his skin and the water did nothing to soothe it. He could almost feel the hooks in his flesh and it was all Ed could do to keep from vomiting in the sink.

Seconds turned in to minutes as Ed stood there, palms braced on the cool porcelain and trying to fight the heat as if it was something he could win against. He heard a bed creak and swallowed, tried to arrange his face in some sort of mask of deniability but it was not Al's bulk that blocked out the wan light from the room. "Ed?" Castiel's voice was hoarse, stripped raw from pain.

"Cas," Ed mumbled, running one still-wet hand over his own face. "What are you doing up, you need to heal-"

"It doesn't matter," Castiel said simply, a cool current in the ongoing furnace, cool hand against his face. "You need me more." 


	2. Metaphor

His back was healing slowly, a strange thing considering Ed had seen him take a bullet and heal it standing up. It would be too cruel to shove the ragged flesh under the crappy shower head so Castiel sat on the edge of the bath tub while Ed gently wiped his back with a damp cloth. Loose pieces of skin would flake off, some with an accompanying well of blood. Castiel made no noise, but his shoulders would tense every time the rag touched him. Ed said nothing as he worked, and they sat in silence, the only sound being water as Ed rinsed the rag out repeatedly.

"It is strange," Castiel said after a moment.

"Hm?" Ed asked, holding the rag under the faucet as he straddled the bath tub behind Castiel.

"I have touched many lives," he said softly. "I have seen the spark of new life ignite and the flame of long life flicker out countless times over; I have held many people who would never see or comprehend my existence and I have spoke many times to those who could not hear me." Ed had hesitated, wash cloth pressed to a spot underneath Castiel's shoulder, and Castiel sighed. "Never once has someone lifted their hand to help me."

Ed dabbed more blood from his back and said gruffly, "first time for everything." 


	3. Sky

"Sometimes," Ed said as he stood on the side of the road, watching the early evening traffic whiz by blindly, "I feel like I'm being mocked."

Al leaned out from under the hood of the Impala, oil and grime streaked to his elbows. "Only sometimes?" he grunted, wiping the sweat out of his eyes with his hand. Ed ignored him, leaned against the side of his car and took a pull from the flask he sometimes tucked in his back pocket. "Are you going to come over here and help, isn't this your damn car?"

Ed turned around and walked to Al, peering over the work Al was doing. "You're doing fine," he said, clapping Al's elbow. Al glowered at him, eyed the wrench he had balanced in the engine, but Ed had wandered back to the side of the car. Castiel sat in the back seat, door open and frowning at Ed. He was down to his tee shirt and jeans and was rubbing at oil on his arms from his "attempts" to help Al, which lent largely to Al's frustration. "This is most vexing," he said, holding his hands out and showing oil still streaked across them.

"Yup," Ed said in sympathy, leaning against the back side of the car, beside Castiel. "That's why I'm letting Al handle it." He fished out his flask and passed it to Castiel, who looked at it in confusion. Ed rolled his eyes. "You take a drink, Cas."

Castiel sniffed the flask delicately, then knocked it back. Ed hid a grin behind his hand when the angel choked and spluttered, and rescued the flask from him. "Ed," Al called angrily, leaning over. "Stop sneaking Cas booze, he's going to get carsick."

"What, are you his mom now, too?" Ed called back as Castiel coughed and cleaned his air pipes. "And some days," Ed said, watching the rose of the sky slowly deepen into twilight, "I really don't." 


	4. Lost Scene

"Ed?" Al called, opening the door to the motel room with a frown. The TV was on, Ed's boots were kicked against the wall and the door to the bathroom was open. Al felt his stomach leap with fear - they hadn't had time to properly ward this room, anything could have happened - when he heard the toilet flush.

Al blinked, and leaned in the bathroom. Ed was seated on the edge of the bath tub, one hand awkwardly patting Castiel's back as he threw up again. "Ed...?"

Ed winced as Castiel gagged again and glowered at Al. "I hate you when you're right," he said, obviously pained "So, so much." 


End file.
